


This Little Shit

by CivilDisobedience



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 3, Fallout 4
Genre: F/M, Pretty much it, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-25
Updated: 2016-07-25
Packaged: 2018-07-26 14:57:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7578493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CivilDisobedience/pseuds/CivilDisobedience
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ever wonder what would happen if the Lone Wanderer met the decade-older Mayor MacCready?</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Little Shit

**Author's Note:**

> Italicized are Charon's thoughts. Poor guy.

Her silver hair shone purple in the colored lights of the bar, and the half empty whiskey bottle she tilted back in a quick swig also took on the color. The bottle had began full, and her seemingly-uninterested ghoul companion had warned she best slow down. 

“Come on, Chaaaaron, lighten up!” She giggled, shoving at his shoulder. “Ten years together and you’re still as rough as a Deathclaw’s personality.”

“I just believ-,” he began, but she poofed up her lip and gave him her trademark look that could set the world on fire. “Okay..” Charon sighed. All too eagerly the Smoothskin shoved the bottle towards him, grinning as he took a few sips. _Anything to make her happy._

She was working on the rest of the whiskey as Charon took to a new bottle. He had to admit, it made him much more relaxed. She rambled about something to a woman whom sat next to her at the bar, ‘Magnolia.’ The woman seemed rather interested in the way his woman spoke, about the Capital Wasteland and Mojave. 

“Mojave is way out west, Hun. What brings you all this way?” Magnolia questioned, angled at the bar to face Bradi completely. 

“Charon,” she jabbed a thumb over her shoulder towards the ghoul seated next to her, “was born here before the war. I wanted him to show me the town.”

“Oh, Hun, prewar ghoul? Those people are awfuly rare,” Magnolia commented, leaning slightly to catch Charon’s blue gaze. “And quite a looker, for a ghoul anyways.”

Bradi grinned, leaning backwards as Charon automatically stabilized her. “I love him.” And oh, did her words make everything better. He grinned to himself, letting the women continue talking as he sipped at his bottle. Charon wasn’t a people-person.. Er.. Ghoul.. His woman, however, loved to talk.

Throughout the night, Bradi talked to whomever came in her direction. She was normally friendly, and the alcohol only made it increase tenfold. Charon led her towards the couches, as a stool seemed way too easy for her to fall off of at the moment. She was clumsy naturally, nevermind now. Luckily, a nice ghoulette was sat on the couch where Bradi plopped, and he sat adjacent to the pair. Charon drifted in and out of the conversation, mainly focusing on the goes-ons in the bar for anything out of place. A man, Merc he figured, entered with a pretty impressive sniper rifle slung across his back. Something about the guy, or kid really as he couldn’t be out of his early twenties, was oddly familiar. He watched the man sit down at the bar, and the waiter automatically brought him a beer. Must be a regular.

“-And get this, in the Capital Wasteland, there’s a whole freakin’ settlement ran by kids!” Bradi commented rather loudly to the same ghoulette, and the Merc Charon was eyeing turned in his seat slightly.

“You’re kidding,” the raspy voice commented, ever intrigued by his woman’s tipsy rambles.

“No ma’am! I went there for this project assigned by this um..Charon, by who again?”

“A cult, Bradi” he replied robotically.

“Yeah! By a cult. Anyways. It’s by all kids, and once you’re 16, you get kicked out. They were all so nice and sweet though, well, except for their little shit of a mayor,” Bradi giggled, and the Merc rose from his bar stool. Charon’s fingers slid off the arm rest of the couch and onto his thigh, right above the handle of his hunting knife. No funny business, please.. “I mean, I liked the kid a lot. I thought it was hilarious that he was like, 12 years old and telling me how shit was. But he kept calling me a ‘Mungo,’ and I don’t even know what that was. But he was pretty ballsy,” she continued on, and the Merc stopped a few feet away from the couches, and slowly slid a knife back into its sheath. _When the fuck did he pull that out?_

Charon’s hand gripped his thigh tightly, attempting not to rip out the knife and finish this already. But the Merc grabbed two beers from the counter, and headed over to Bradi. She hadn’t even noticed him until he swung a chair over and sat next to her. 

“Name’s MacCready,” he grinned, handing her a beer. She hesitantly took it after glancing to Charon for permission.

“Bradi. Can I help you?” All of a sudden serious, it really impressed Charon how she could act so well. 

“Not really. Just overheard your short story about this group of little kids. I’m from the Capital Wasteland, too, so I might know them,” Mac held the same grin, clinking his bottle to hers before taking a swig.

She twisted away from the ghoulette and angled completely towards the man, her right leg crossing over left at the knee. “Not much to tell, really. The settlement was nice, actually. They.. Lived off fungus though. I guess. I got pretty banged up and had their doctor fix me. She knew her shit for being like, 11 years old. I could barely color inside the lines at that age.” Bradi giggled at her own comment, taking a sip of the beer. 

The way the Merc’s eyes dragged over his woman’s leg drove Charon up the wall internally. Especially when she decided to wear that damned dress and combat boots out in public. _I fucking told her armor is the best..The safest._ When Mac looked up, Bradi was staring him down with an arched eyebrow. “Again, Can I help you?” _That is my girl._

“Not really. Just, enjoying the view?” His grin wavered slightly as he finally looked at her arm and noticed the huge fucking pipboy. “Wait, how long ago were you at Little Lamplight?”

“Funny. I don’t recall mentioning their name. What do you say, Charon?” She tilted to look at him, “Ten years?” When the ghoul nodded, she turned back to the Merc, whose eyes were wide as plates.

“W-wait.. Lone Wanderer? Sledge-wielding savior? And her ghoul?”

Bradi smirked, “Guess you remember me. I thought I finally lived that down.” 

Mac scooted his chair closer to her, grinning. “I was the mayor. And you were a fu-freakin’ legend. We always had our radio on, listening to 3-Dog talk about your adventures. Modern day superhero.” 

“Can’t believe you guys got signal down in that cave. Wait, you were that little bastard? No shit,” she eyed him, scanning up and down his frame. “Puberty did you good, kid.”

Mac tried to hide his small blush with another grin. “I’d say the same to you, but I met you when you were a Mungo. Listen, I’ve always wondered what happened to you, especially after I turned 16, heh, so what’s say you and I get outta here?” The Merc placed his hand, rather gently too, on her knee and squeezed lightly. Before she could even react, Charon was standing over the man, gripping his bicep. 

“You are still a little shit, now let her go,” Charon ordered, and Mac obeyed. Bradi grinned up at her ghoul in appreciation. 

“Huh, didn’t know you and the zombie were hittin’ things off. Guess I should have found you sooner. Could’ve been with a real man with skin,” Mac commented, and stood from his chair. He swung it back, mumbling something about shufflers. 

Normally Bradi prided herself on manners, but talking about her Charon was the final straw for anyone. Charon extended his hand, helping the woman up from the couch. “Skin or not, I like when my men don’t need to borrow my stepping-crate to get things from the top shelf.” MacCready paused, a deep red setting across his face in either embarrassment or shame. Either way, it had Bradi grinning and Charon holding back a laugh. 

The normally quick-whitted little bastard kept his mouth shut, lips pressing tightly to hold whatever comment back. _Good, I do not have to beat you into a pulp._ He tossed a bag of caps onto the counter for the bartender, and headed up the stairs and out the door of the bar.


End file.
